“That is your only motive, your only reason?” the doctor asked, bending a searching glance upon her handsome face. “It is.” “Then pardon me, madame, if I tell you that I do not consider it of sufficient importance to gratify your desire,” Doctor Turner returned, gravely. “I can understand and sympathize with you—it is but natural that a mother should yearn for her child, even after a separation of more than twenty years; but I know well enough that Mr. Damon would not have withheld his true name from you unless he desired to cut you off from all future knowledge of the child whom you had given him. You also wished to drop entirely out of their orbit, to leave no trace by which they could ever find you, to learn the secret you were so careful to preserve, and they have only aided you by concealing their own identity. If you should put yourself in their way and try to see their daughter, they could not fail to recognize you, as I have done, and it would greatly disturb their peace; while if anything should occur to arouse the young lady’s suspicions that she does not really belong to the parents whom she so fondly loves, I am sure it would cause her a great deal of unhappiness, while it might result in inquiries and discoveries that would be embarrassing to yourself.” Mrs. Marston sat proudly erect at this, her eyes flashing warningly. “Such inquiries might be embarrassing, it is true, but they could result in nothing that would bring discredit upon either the child or me,” she said, with conscious dignity. “I do not question that, madame, yet it would seem to be the wiser course to let everything rest just as it is,” said the physician, thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are right,” responded his companion, with a sigh, “but I would like to see her.” “Allow me to ask, Mrs. Marston,” Doctor Turner resumed, after a minute of silence, “is your husband still living?” The woman flushed, a startled, painful crimson, to her brow; then she straightened herself haughtily. “Yes, my husband is living,” she icily replied. “And, excuse me, but having been your medical attendant, I feel something of an interest in the case—how was he affected by the—the loss of his child?” Doctor Turner knew that he was trespassing on dangerous ground, but, under the circumstances, he felt that he might be pardoned for asking the question. “I do not feel that you have a right to interrogate me thus,” Mrs. Marston responded, with some excitement, “nevertheless, I am somewhat in your power, and——” “Madame,” interrupted the physician, with an air of pride, “you need not go on; if a little bit of your life is in my keeping, I assure you it is in the keeping of a conscientious man. Whatever I may possess regarding any patient, I could never use it in a dishonorable way.”